


to love with throat exposed

by ophidian_prowl



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dysphoria, M/M, Misunderstandings, Scars, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 07:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14303460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophidian_prowl/pseuds/ophidian_prowl
Summary: Gaara’s gaze finally rolls upwards from where it has been trained upon his flesh, mouth pursing in displeasure. What this means, Lee can only guess. None of the answers his frantic mind can provide are of any comfort. He consoles himself in the meanwhile with a lie:my heart will not break if he turns me away.





	to love with throat exposed

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> _and when you love me I am wound_  
> 
> 
> Written for my lovely friend; we RP these two (I as Lee) and what was supposed to be a drabble became a fair bit longer then I was planning. The prompt I was working with was _your muse touching mine's scars_.
> 
> Lee is trans and, while generally comfortable with his body, has slight concerns here about how he is perceived. Nothing major, but slight dysphoria warning.

Gaara’s hesitance is alarming. By nature he is not a creature given to pause. Every movement of his is measured in the slow way of desert beasts; calculated and precise. Meant to conserve energy until the proper moment to strike.This, however, is nothing like that grace. Gaara _falters_ in his touch. Wavers like mirage, like heat-dream. Unsure. In fact, his hand seems to tremble.

Minutely, but enough to cool Lee’s ardor. Embarrassment follows quickly on the heels of passion. Suddenly, he is too exposed. His last wrappings have been thrown somewhere across the room, even the binds around his chest. He sits, naked and scarred and taking up too much room on the bed. Ungainly limbs, long and dark with hair and shadows from the flickering light.

Self-consciousness that has not belonged to him in years makes itself known in the hollow beat of his heart, pounding in his ears and throats. A war-drum, merely ushering the end. It had been too much to hope.

He’d believed Gaara. Still would, after this, but between each breath and the next a sort of grave acceptance settles in his breast. Far different to claim it, him, his odd body did not matter when they were clothed and wanting. They’d not yet been stripped to brown skins and staring at each other, panting and animal. Gaara is perfect; untouched and smooth where he is decidedly...not. High cheekbones dazzle as they always have, keep him stuck and still not fleeing.

A traitorous sect of his mind begs that he leans forward to lick again at the dip of his too-prominent clavicle. Trace back over where his teeth and tongue have left mark. He wants to unmake him down to bone. Could he unravel the tight coil of his body to something softer, more tender? To imagine Gaara as such is almost laughable, but so is the idea of having him in his bed, lithe and wraith-like and deceptively thin —

and statue still. Dread drips a slow poison through his veins, stark reminder of the now. Lee’s very foundations tremble; is this terror? Of rejection, no doubt to come. Each second that he is still allowed near is suddenly precious for its rareness. He clutches them close to his chest, like pearls. Gaara is suddenly unattainable and golden.

“I — you,” oh spirits, he’s choking. Perhaps on tears. “It is alright if you do not want to do this. I would understand.”

Gaara’s gaze finally rolls upwards from where it has been trained upon his flesh, mouth pursing in displeasure. What this means, Lee can only guess. None of the answers his frantic mind can provide are of any comfort. He consoles himself in the meanwhile with a lie: _my heart will not break if he turns me away._

Shuttered doors now swing wide open with something like hurt before they are guarded once more. Doubtless, Gaara would like to think his walls are impenetrable, but they never have been for Lee. “Do I make you uncomfortable, then?” _Do I frighten?_ Calmness, predator stillness: this, Lee has witnessed before. A clipped, careful stillness to his voice. Telling. The cool assessing of eyes, the tilt of head. Reptilian in nature. Ancient and deadly and basilisk. Very rarely does his friend ( _lover? beloved? heart?_ ) aim such study at him.

That question is foolish enough to pull him from his own miserable ruminations, shooting back a look of utter surprise. “ _What?_ No.” No clarification is needed, nor should it be. Of all things, Lee has never _feared_ Gaara. After all this time Gaara still expects Lee to run screaming, hiding from a beast so soiled in blood as to be unlovable. Even in the mires of his own pain his heart aches for him. Yearns to reach out and gather him against himself. Would he that he could, Gaara would never go unwanted ever again. “How could I ever? You know I do not. You are more precious to me than jewel or star or sky.”

 _You should_ , says the displeased tightening of his jaw. There are many things that Gaara says silently and leaves him to infer. “Your self preservation has always been lacking.” Now more open, if only slightly, Gaara’s gaze ghosts over his features. Imagination, maybe, but he lingers for a moment too long on his swollen mouth. With startling clarity Lee recalls just how much Gaara seems to enjoy kissing him; reaches into each eagerly, as if his salvation rested within its depths. Each pass of his gaze is akin to physical caress, leaving him once more excited and bereft.

Still, neither has left. Still, neither has moved to resume their heated embrace.

Unlike he had expected, however, Gaara does not glance for more than a minute at what he lacks and has instead. Breasts are given only a cursory flicker, too quick to miss, almost, but Lee does not register disgust on so familiar and adored face. _Interest_ , perhaps. _Prays_. If he is lucky. In this moment, above all else, he desperately wishes for Gaara to want him too. To crave his touch in turn.

What gives Gaara away is the way he stares instead, of all things, at Lee’s arm. There is something impossible to discern crossing his face, awfully similar to consternation. Frustration. Dismay? Reading him has become easier with time, but the Kazekage is a man who holds his deeper self under lock and key. A necessity born of suffering, but he keeps so much of himself chained that it hurts to watch.

His gaze does not break and there is enough intensity in it to set fire. Then, to Lee’s thigh on the same side, and back up again. Not to his chest once more, or the absence between his thighs. Odd, and strange and _oh._  Well.

He glances down too, at first seeing nothing of interest on the familiar planes of muscle and tissue, but then his breath catches in understanding. His scars — and not just any. Spider-webbing across dark skin in an ugly mess of twisted tissue and caved pockets are the marks left behind from the Chunin exams. From their match. Sometimes still they ache and pull with too much exertion, but it is rare that Lee thinks of them now. They are another badge that he wears with little sorrow. They are, however, the most expansive and worst he has to date. Healing had indeed been a long, arduous process, but one that left more impact on him then how he actually _received_ them.

Gaara has not looked away from them again even once. A man caught in trance, as if mesmerized or charmed by snake-glare. Ah, the unsettled crease of his brow suddenly makes sense in light of this revelation. Guilt is why his hand hovers, unsure. This is likely the first time that Gaara has seen the full extent of the damage he’d wrought, even truly thought on the significance of it, perhaps. Did he feel unworthy?

At once relief drags the weight of the world off Lee’s shoulders; the bird of his heart flutters in elation. It is not because he finds him unseemly or strange that he shies! It is not that he does not desire him! Oh, Lee could _sing_ his joy to the very rafters. Were it not for the severity of this moment he surely would. Quickly in its wake follows a melancholy thought that repeats in endless loop; _Gaara believe himself undeserving_ _._

There is not even a hint of movement or recognition in return when Lee lifts a hand to fold Gaara’s in his own. There is a distance in his features that speak of isolation and bitterness. Self-loathing is not pretty upon anyone, and it is no exception now.

Undeterred and patient, Lee raises his arm to press a gentle kiss against the thin knuckles. Soft and barely there, but when that does not suffice he daringly bites gently at the fold of flesh and bone.  At last, that produces a reaction. Though it is impossible to have truly startled him, Gaara jumps as if he has been shocked. When he settles, he stares somewhere next to Lee’s ear. Of all things, he is _avoiding_ Lee’s eyes.

_Your self preservation has always been lacking._

Determined as always, Lee cranes his neck until they are nose to nose. He will not speak until Gaara looks him fully in the face. His lover (and yes, he resolves to call him such now) knows this, and he sighs against trembling lips before meeting a caring and gentle gaze. Never would Lee dream of looking at him with anything but adoration and trust. “Do you trust me?”  he asks in turn. “Gaara, do you want this?”

Aquamarine studies him solemnly, but Gaara answers so naturally that it can be no lie. This time, he does not hesitate. “With my all.” As expected as the tide meeting the shore and the rise of the sun, and twice as sure. In this, they are steady; neither would be here now if not for the overwhelming respect and devotion that blooms between them. _I love you_ , Lee thinks. Knows within his very soul, but resolves to tell him later. When there is less chance of Gaara whisking away to try and _save_ Lee from himself like some misguided and besotted fool.

“Then _touch_ me. Let me know your touch. I want nothing more than to revel in it.” A breath, and he tilts to accommodate the breadth of noses before the kiss. This feels right and good, as it should be; he presses them closer together so that not an inch of their bodies does not meet. As they pull away Lee doesn’t let him go far, crowding instead into his space. Their joined hands he moves to rest upon his thigh, stroke the raised surface of a white blemish as one. “You know I am not upset over this. Have not been for years.” To such an extent that it did not even _occur_ that it would upset Gaara to see.

“I do not,” oh, the word _deserve_ rests just on the tip of Gaara’s tongue, heavy enough to be heard. The unspoken settles between them. Seeming to realize that Lee would not respond favorably to such a tactic, he begins again. “No one else would. You are singular in your ability to forgive. Too much, some would say.”

“It is a good thing that I do not put much weight in what others think. They do not dictate how I live my life. Which, I wish to live with you.” Cheekily, he darts forward to kiss against both of his cheeks. It is not his imagination when he feels the corner of a smile beneath his lips. Resolving to not let another frown mar his features during their lovemaking, Lee persists in this until Gaara captures his grinning mouth, cutting off the bubbling laughter with a moan. When he kisses him it is fierce, promise. The evidence of desire against his thigh is enough to dissuade earlier doubts of his own inadequacies.

“I will not harm you again.This I swear to you.” A broken sound, as if he needs both himself and Lee to believe him. Hands spread together on Lee’s thigh, clutching tightly to each other. A tether against the outside world, a bond and pact. “And...I, too would spend it with you.” Both men of their word, it is no less binding than oath. Lee does not need such a thing to know this; he already had.

Everything within him is alight with warmth and light and trust. “And you will not.” He replies simply in turn. He does not need a further vow or demonstration; Gaara’s word is enough. His love returned (even if he does not recognize  it as such) is _enough._

“Now then, there are other places you could explore should you wish.” An impish grin and a quick nip of teeth at Gaara’s jaw accompanies the movement of their hands to a less innocent location. He is bold tonight, bolder than he would have thought, but Gaara gives him courage where he falters. When an insistent kiss and firm touch pushes him backwards to the nest of pillows, Lee is not afraid of where he falls. He never will be, with Gaara at his side.

Like fire burning through forest, he had returned stronger from the wreckage and ash. And again, Gaara makes phoenix of him with his touch, burning.  

He rises to kiss, to touch, to _love._

 


End file.
